Payoff for Faith
by Sammy's Missing Shoe
Summary: We all know Sam said 'yes' in the Endverse. What we don't all know- is why. It wasn't the constant torture, or forced consumption of demon blood that broke him, (though that certainly didn't help.) It was the loneliness. Hurt and Tortured!Sam, angels being their usual selves, and no Dean to be found. What more could you want?
1. List of Letdowns

**AN:** Finding time to write has been a pain, but I just got back from vacation which has an eight hour drive, and no phone reception, which left me with plenty of time to write, even if that meant I was doing so until three a.m. But- this has always been a story that demanded to be written, because much like when Meg possessed Sam, you can't help but wonder how it came to be. Plenty of torture, and angst. Always angst. Gotta love angst.

* * *

It was so damn unfair. Sam had always been the one who had believed. He had believed in God, he had believed in angels, he had believed in the idea that he could one day redeem himself, be seen as more than the boy king, an abomination, a monster.

That had been his own fault really.

Turned out Sam had been right about angels being real. The part that sucked was that damn near every single one of them hated his guts. They were all so bent on the notion that he was nothing more than Lucifer's meatsuit, which made him just as bad as Lucifer apparently. But that didn't stop them from incessantly trying to get him to say 'yes' to him, because why the hell not be a bunch of hypocritical douchebags?

Sam really had no idea how long it had been since he'd contacted Dean. The days tended to blur together when you start and end each one with copious amounts of alcohol.

Not that it mattered. Dean had made it clear just how much he cared about Sam. Seriously, Sam had told him that freaking Satan was invading his dreams, and Dean had said that they were better off apart. Whatever, not like Sam needed him anyway.

Or- so he had thought...

 _Months Later..._

Day God knows what, in town God knows where, and drink number- God probably doesn't want to know actually. But God had made it quite clear that He had abandoned Sam long ago. But whatever, so had everyone else in his life, why should one more matter?

Despite how fine Sam had insisted he was, this particular bartender had decided that Sam had had enough for the night. Like it mattered how much he drank. The Devil could still possess him with a ruined liver. The Devil could bring him back to life if he died in a car accident. He couldn't escape. He was destined to become Lucifer's bitch, and apparently he couldn't stop it. His entire life had been one rollercoaster he'd been unwillingly strapped into starting at six months old. Every twist and turn, every rise or fall he'd endured had all just been pushing him closer and closer to Lucifer. Sam had always been in favour of one having the ability to choose one's own path, but look where that had gotten him.

Finally able to make his way out of the bar, Sam drunkenly stumbled back to the hotel, along the way passing some kind of priest rambling about the imminent destruction of mankind. Oh, if only you knew, buddy.

He collapsed onto his bed, dreading the headache and nausea he knew he was going to wake up to. But until that moment came, he'd take solace in the bliss of not being conscious for as many hours as he possibly could. With that promise of ever fleeting numbness, Sam closed his eyes.

As expected, he woke up a few hours later with a blazing headache. Without even opening his eyes, Sam reached out to the nightstand next to his bed to grab some painkillers. Only- the bottle wasn't there. He finally opened his eyes to look for it, but to his surprise, not only were the pills missing, but so was the entire nightstand. He shot up in his bed- wait, even his _bed_ was gone!

What the hell?

Ever the hunter, Sam began to survey his surroundings, and the first thing Sam realised was that he was no longer in the same place he had gone to sleep in. It was a fairly small room, and Sam soon noticed something else. The complete lack of a door. And windows. Seriously, what the hell was going on?

"Confused?"

Sam internally groaned at the sound of that voice. He'd actually believed that he'd finally gotten rid of that asshole. Add that to the list of letdowns.

"Zachariah." He greeted with a huff, turning around to face the angel he'd come to hate so very much.

"Aw, what's with the face, Sam? I'm sure you missed me at least a little."

Sam's silence was all the answer he was willing to give.

Zachariah was the one who huffed this time. "Rude."

"How'd you even find me?" Sam asked, in no mood for these childish games Zachariah seemed so bent on playing.

"We gave a few chosen speakers yours and Dean's faces. Helps to have a couple of eyes on the ground. Keeps us from having to deal with all the other monkeys on this soon to be eradicated planet."

"Yeah, and how's that been going?" Sam couldn't help but mockingly ask. Pissing off Zachariah was just way too much fun. Although- it did often have its consequences.

With a very clear scowl, Zachariah grabbed Sam by his shoulders and painfully slammed him into the yolk-coloured wall. Why he didn't just flick his fingers and pin Sam there was beyond Sam. Zachariah leaned right into Sam's face, and it quickly became clear that angels didn't feel the need to brush their vessels' teeth.

"You would be wise to show me some, respect, boy." Zachariah hissed at Sam, his blue eyes boring into Sam's. "You're stuck with me now, so I wouldn't play this game if I were you."

"What, like you're not already planning to torture me to get me to say 'yes?' What more can you really do?"

The scowl Zachariah once had shifted into an all too eager smile, but the eyes stayed icy and hateful, and Sam soon began to regret asking that question.

"Oh, don't look so worried, Sam. I'm not gonna lay a finger on you..." The grin widened. "Yet." He snapped his fingers, and Sam couldn't help but reflexively flinch. Any time an angel snapped their fingers, only bad things happened. Although nothing he'd expected occurred. He didn't explode into a mess of organs and blood, his bones shatter, and he didn't get his lungs torn out again either. Instead, a small table appeared in the centre of the room, nothing on it expect for a single glass. And inside the glass was- no. Oh, God, _please_ no.

Demon blood.

It had been months since Tim and Reggie had tried to force that damn stuff down his throat, and he hadn't let himself give in then. But- he had been fighting humans in a , now he'd be resisting an angel in an inescapable room. This was not good.

"You keep that stuff away from me." Sam had been going for strong and defiant when he said that, so it was much to his dismay when it sounded more like a plea.

Zachariah must have noticed it too, because he chuckled. "You've got a long way to go before you say the big 'yes,' I can tell you that." He made his way over to the glass, and strode back over to Sam, the gleaming red liquid taunting him. "But this will be a good start." He immediately tried to force the glass up to Sam's mouth, but Sam knocked it out of Zachariah's hands in a flash, and the glass clattered to the floor, its contents now glimmering red against the white tile.

Like a disappointed owner scolding its dog, Zachariah crossed his arms and turned to Sam. "Now look at the mess you've made."

Within a single blink of Sam's eyes, the spill was gone. Before he could feel relief, Zachariah thrust another glass filled with demon blood directly into Sam's face. "Wanna try that again?"

It was really Zachariah's own fault for giving Sam the choice. He was only a human, but an annoyingly stubborn one at that, so it shouldn't have been that much of a surprise when Sam refused that glass too, once again knocking it onto the floor.

Sighing, Zachariah shook his head. "Let the record show that I tried to do this the humane way."

Before Sam could even flinch in anticipation for an attack, he felt his back slam against something solid and cold. Then what felt like leather slid over his limbs and mouth, pinning him to what he presumed to be a table. With the gag over his mouth, Sam supposed it meant that Zachariah had given up on trying to feed him demon blood, for which he felt relief.

That is- until he saw Zachariah coming at him with a needle. His stomach clenched in horror as he immediately guessed its contents.

He began to struggle as much as he possibly could, but with his arms fastened down at his sides and his legs secured in three different places, there wasn't much room for the possibility of freeing himself.

For a moment he thought that he'd have a shot at escape when Zachariah undid the strap on his left arm, but the angel simply yet harshly squeezed Sam's wrist, grinding the bones together, making the message clear. Sam was going nowhere.

With nothing else left to do, Sam cast a pleading glance to Zachariah, his panting breaths amplified as they rushed against the gag across his mouth. He even gave a meek shake of his head, because he was just that desperate.

But Zachariah only laughed.

"And with that, you're already on step one of your acceptance process." That said, Zachariah swiftly injected the needle into the soft skin of Sam's inner arm, smirk widening further upon hearing Sam's distressed cry. He finished with the first dosage, and with a wave of his hand, he closed up the injury. Wouldn't want even a single drop of that blood spilling out, now would we?

"Now," Zachariah said with what seemed to be a genuinely pleased smile, and wasn't that the most comforting sight? "You've been a bad boy so far, Sam, so I'll just leave you here to think about what you've done for a while. See you in a few hours, buddy."

After briefly delighting in the panicked look in Sam's eyes, Zachariah vanished, leaving the boy to writhe in misery.

* * *

 **AN:** This story just further shows how much I dislike dialogue. Don't know why, just don't like doing it. But hey, it means gagged Sam, so can you really complain? Hehehe. Next chapter is fully complete, but I actually have a job this Summer, so I don't know when I'll be able to post. But to anyone who knows my stories, you know that an already finished next chapter means a-

 **Sneak Peek:** "Satan's vessel, whimpering on the ground because of a shot. Go figure."

Even less dialogue next chapter than there was here, but hurt!Sam galore, so I'm sure y'all won't mind. Drop a review if you're enjoying, and I will post as soon as I can! Thanks for reading!


	2. Beginning to Blacken

**AN:** Shout-out to anon reviewer Cheryl! Thanks for taking the time to let me know what you think! You should all give a big thank you to M.J. Ellsworth. Not only is she one of the best authors with some of the best writing on this website, but she is the main reason I put aside time to get this posted for y'all today. Check out her work sometime, it'll break your heart in the most wonderful ways. That said, onto the story!

* * *

Even back when he'd been drinking willingly, the effects had never been quite like this. He had been _drinking_ was probably why. The blood had had time to gradually enter and eventually leave his system. Never before had it been directly injected into his bloodstream. And he was painfully beginning to realise why.

It had started with shock and horror before things got really bad. Zachariah had left without rebinding the arm he had injected, so Sam started making quick work of undoing the rest of his restraints holding him down. He was so focused on freeing himself that it wasn't until he'd gotten both of his legs loose that he finally looked down at his arm.

The veins were beginning to blacken.

Pure panic numbed the horror for a brief moment, but that all too fleeting second passed, and that was when the pain set in. His body fought the new blood. It seemed to reject it as much as his mind did, but unfortunately, he had no way to expel it, so his body's reluctance manifested itself as blinding agony.

It started a mere cramp, but it soon moved beyond the tensing of his muscles, and his entire arm started to fold in on itself, eventually so far that Sam feared that the bone was going to snap. But no, he was lucky enough for it only to cause the muscle to tear.

Yeah, wasn't he just freaking blessed?

The pain of a literal torn muscle blazed through his arm, then eventually his entire body as the blood's effects darted through the rest of his system. Every limb, and far too many muscles soon fell victim to the same fate, and he was all too quickly crying out in immense pain against the gag still covering his mouth.

Once the pain faded, well, the pain of the blood entering his body, the agony of ripped muscles was far too stubborn to spare him that quickly, the sweats came. Beads of it formed at his forehead, and if his free arm wasn't blazing in agony he may have had the energy to wipe them away. Sadly, that was not the case. Instead, heat slowly, painfully, _painfully,_ slowly spread throughout his body until it was drenched in sweat.

Then came the shakes.

They started as mere twitches. Irregular, unpredictable, but they passed quickly, but lingered long enough to leave an ache in his abused muscles. Then, the twitches evolved to quivers. Those lasted longer, but the pain was still kept at bearable levels. That is until they turned into full on seizures.

His torn muscles were in no shape to handle such a rough treatment, but it wasn't like Sam had much control over them at this point.

Sam's back arched. His neck corded. His muscles continued to tighten to the point of the pain causing tears to well in his eyes. And when he wasn't frozen by that agony, his body was thrashing against the cold, metal table. His head repeatedly slammed into it, teasing him with the bliss of unconsciousness, but never fully following through on that offer. His free arm and legs flopped uselessly, and he knew that there'd be countless bruises to remind him of this incident once it stopped.

Eventually, his thrashing head had weakened and broken the leather gag, so he was now free to listen to each and every humiliating sound of agony and discomfort. Joy.

A sudden wave of pain hit him so hard that his entire body jerked upwards with a roar of pain, but he wasn't lucky enough to land back on the table. No, instead, he rolled off, but his still bound arm held him to it, which resulted in him dislocating the bone.

He fell to the ground with another cry, which then slowly died down to a whimper. Satan's vessel, whimpering on the ground because of a shot. Go figure.

Sam tried to ride the pain out, hissing through his teeth as the once building tears began to spill out of his eyes. He scolded himself, saying that this was not a new pain, he'd dislocated his shoulder nearly a dozen times throughout his life, he could power through. Now normally, he would've been right, but this wasn't any other time in his life. Back then, he'd had De-... _someone_ to take care of him in those moments of pain. Right now, he was all alone, and being forced onto demon blood again. He felt so small right then, vulnerable, _weak_. So he felt no real shame in what he did next.

He swallowed, raising a shaky hand to wipe away the tears that had fallen. He then let out a broken whisper of that one word that Winchesters were trained never to say, no matter how much pain they were in.

"Please..."

Not a moment later did Zachariah appear, hands clasped behind in his back, and a hell of a smug grin on his face. No doubt he'd somehow been watching the entire thing, unseen by Sam of course.

"Hungry for more?" Zachariah asked cheerfully.

Sam couldn't do much other than look up at him with an expression that could've probably gotten demons to pity him.

But Zachariah wasn't a demon. He was an angel, but one that had been willing to shatter his legs and remove his lungs just to coax three letters out of his brother's mouth. Pity probably wasn't in his vocabulary. The angel strode over to Sam, clearly taking his time.

"If you recall," Zachariah reminded coldly. "All this could've been avoided had you just taken your medicine like a good boy."

Medicine? Wasn't this just some degradation tactic or torture technique to make Sam more inclined to say 'yes?'

His confusion must have been apparent, because Zachariah began monologuing. Normally, Sam detested that cliché of bad guys never knowing when to shut up, but listening to Zachariah speak offered him something else to focus on other than the pain going throughout his entire body. God, he _hurt._

"Right, you're still out of the loop. Don't feel too bad, so are most people. It's just easier to manipulate the confused. So. You're going to say 'yes.'" He held up his finger as soon as it looked like Sam was about to protest. "You are, trust me. Literally set in stone somewhere, Sammy, but that's beside the point. The point is, being Lucifer's meatsuit, well- you've gotta do more than just say the big word. His vessel has to be able to handle the taint that is his grace. Millennia of being the tempter of creation will do that to a guy.

"Anyway, with all that- to put it simply- evil inside of him, his vessel's gonna have a hard time containing that much power and corruption. You say 'yes' without any preparation beforehand, and you'll be splattered all over some warehouse wall before Lucifer can even call Michael's name.

"So, to prevent that, we warm you up. You clearly aren't ready to take Lucifer yet, despite how tainted you already are, so we start small. The blood of his children. We get you pumped full of enough of that, and you'll be ready to handle Lucifer's grace no problem!"

Sam had forgotten about the pain in favour of utter disbelief. He'd thought that being Lucifer's meatsuit was bad enough by itself, but first they had to turn him back into a blood junkie? This-this wasn't fair, he'd quit, he'd stopped! But now this crazy angel dick was going to force it back into him so that when Lucifer enters him it won't kill him? Oh, God, when did Sam start thinking of Lucifer possessing him as a 'when?!' That-that was never gonna happen!

Before he could relay his protest aloud, another wave of pain hit, and Sam was unable to do anything but writhe in agony once more.

Looking down at the pathetic yet oddly amusing sight of Sam Winchester finally breaking at his feet, Zachariah chuckled.

"Seems like you've got some more thinking to do, sport. I'll be in touch with some more blood in a bit." He was gone again before Sam could even open his mouth to say 'no.'

Well- here he goes again.

* * *

 **AN:** Told you there was barely any dialogue here. I'll probably pick it back up again soon. Maybe, I'll see where my pencil takes me. And I added that bit with why Lucifer's vessel needs to be drinking demon blood because the show just writes it off as the blood "strengthening the vessel," to quote Castiel, but I decided to expand on that, hope you didn't mind. I don't have much written for next chapter, but there is enough for a-

 **Sneak Peek:** "And all (the blood) was doing was pushing him closer to Lucifer. He had to resist, he just _had_ to."

Like I said, not much is written yet, so I'm open to some suggestions of what y'all might want to see at some point, your ideas really do help inspire me. And reviews, those also inspire me ;) But for real, drop one if you're enjoying, and I will do my best to write and post, but I've got work every day this week, so I don't know when the next update will be. Sorry, I really hate doing that to you guys, but that's how my life is now. See you soon!


	3. Free to Suffer

**AN:** I've been promising M.J. Ellsworth a chapter with actual detox for some time now, so this is for her. Or for anyone that likes shameless torture and angst. My two favourite things to write. Mmm, good stuff. I had work every day last week, so that's why this took so long to get published, but I hope it was worth the wait!

* * *

He didn't want it. He swears he didn't want it. Well, his mind knew he didn't want it, but his body had other plans. Despite all the torment it had already endured, his body had started insisting upon needing more blood, because not having it would only make things worse. As much pain as there had been, Sam couldn't deny that beneath it had been the twinge that had caused him to become an addict in the first place. That twinge of pure and absolute power. It had been a while since he'd felt that strong, and his body was demanding more.

No, stay in the present, Sam. It doesn't matter how you felt before. It destroyed you, it destroyed the world, and it destroyed your relationship with Dean. There was nothing redeemable about its effects. And all it's doing is pushing you closer to Lucifer. He had to resist. He just _had_ to.

Not long after he had renewed his defiance, Zachariah appeared, not surprisingly holding another glass filled with demon blood.

"Ready to take it like a big boy?" He asked with an amused grin. "Oh, first, let's fix up that shoulder." With no more warning than that, Zachariah snapped his fingers, and Sam's shoulder bones, none too gently, jerked back into place.

He clutched his arm with a cry of pain, followed by a hissed in breath and a glare at Zachariah.

"No need to thank me." The angel said.

"Don't worry, I wasn't planning to." Sam huffed out.

Zachariah's eyes narrowed, clearly unpleased with Sam's reignited rebellious streak. "I'll repeat my question, Sam." He picked up the glass, waving it under Sam's nose. "Are you ready?"

Sam reached his shaky hand out, sweaty palm cooled by the chill of the glass. He swallowed. Now came the hard part. His plan buzzed in his head, promising him freedom and choice. But on the other hand, the smell wafted to his nose, practically whispering fantasies of power and feelings so intense that Lucifer himself would fear Sam. Was he strong enough to resist the blood, or was he strong enough not to fear it?...

Decision made, Sam brought the glass to his lips... and then he smashed it against the table he was still tied to. He wielded the base of the glass, aiming the broken end at Zachariah, and he quickly thrust it forward. Sam knew nothing was really going to happen other than pissing Zachariah off, but that was all the reward he needed.

"You can force that stuff into me all you want." Sam practically hissed. "You can tie me up, torture me, but I'm telling you now that I will never, _ever_ willingly accept it, and I would rather die than say yes to Lucifer." To further prove his point, Sam shoved the glass even deeper into Zachariah's heart, giving it a twist before letting go, leaving the glass jutting out from the angel's chest. The once pristine, clear glass now dripped red.

Unimpressed and seemingly unsurprised, Zachariah easily plucked the glass from his chest. He glanced at Sam, taking note of the unwavering defiance he had in his eyes, and then Zachariah sighed.

"I know you don't want it. So- I suppose I'll have to grant your wish."

Sam's heart soared for the entire half second before he remembered what no longer being forced the blood would mean.

Detox.

"Now," Zachariah said, clearly relishing in the knowledge of what Sam was about to endure. "This experience is all about your decision, because of this crazy notion you have about free will, right?" He smiled. "So, if it's freedom you want, it's freedom you'll get." He snapped his fingers again, and the only remaining restraint vanished, as did the table, now leaving Sam free. Free to seize uncontrollably, free to be thrown and tossed all around the room like a rag doll, free to _suffer._

"Have fun!" Zachariah said cheerfully. "Oh, and don't worry about messing up the room. I'll fix anything you break in a heartbeat. But I'll leave the blood from earlier in case you change your mind." He freaking _winked,_ and then he was gone again.

Lick demon blood off the floor? Fat chance Zachariah. Fat chance...

* * *

Hours- maybe days?- had passed since Zachariah's disappearance, and the blood on the floor was starting to look pretty damn good. Sam had endured this torment twice before in his life, he knew the steps of this painful process by now. First, he'd suffer through the shakes. Check. Second, he'd curse through the cramps. Check. Then would come the hallucinations, and then that would be followed up with being hurled all around the room. He'd yet to encounter either of those yet, but he was dreading them like nothing ever before.

He'd been quivering in silence for what felt like forever before he finally heard a voice.

"Who would've thought that one little lie would've taken you all the way here?"

Sam swallowed, dreading facing the speaker, because how could he ever forget that voice? But it was a hallucination, what did it really matter? He reluctantly turned around. It wasn't the blood or flaking and crusted skin that scared him the most. It was the eyes. So cold and distant, nothing like the ones that had made him fall in love with her all those years ago.

"And what lie is that, Jess?"

"That 'everything was going to be okay.'" She repeated the last words he'd ever spoken to her with malice dripping from her voice. "Does this look okay to you?" She gestured to her cut open and bleeding stomach, the motion causing several flecks of burnt flesh to fly off and float to the ground like leaves in the autumn.

She may have only been a hallucination, but the words still hurt, mostly because Sam knew she was right.

"Jess, believe me, I never meant to hurt you." Sam whispered. "I thought I was protecting you by not telling you the truth, and that was my own fault."

"Oh, Sam..." She said, shaking her head. "You didn't just hurt me. You killed me."

"I kn-"

"No, you don't know!" She interrupted. "You wish it stopped there, but you know there's more to it than that."

Sam swallowed, fearing where this was heading. "N-no..."

"Denying it won't make it any less true. I didn't just die. I was damned. I didn't go to Heaven, Sam. I went to Hell, because of _you!"_ At the last word, Sam went flying into the wall, pinned there by invisible force. "You wanna know what they did to me down there?" She moved closer to him, the smell of her roasted flesh making Sam gag.

"D-don't." He pleaded softly.

"You're right, that list would take forever to spell out. What they _didn't_ do takes a lot less time to say. It's just one word." She pressed her rotting body against Sam's chest as she whispered in that voice that used to make Sam go crazy with desire. "Nothing." She then bit his ear, just like she used to when they were together at Stanford. The painfully familiar motion made Sam jerk his head away and choke down the sob building in his throat.

Jess pulled away, a small pout on her face. "What's wrong, Sam?" With a blink, her eyes went black. "Don't you love me anymore?"

Sam closed his eyes, knowing that the only reason she stood in front of him was because he was so afraid of seeing her like this. His nightmares always manifested themselves whenever he detoxed, and that's all this was. A hallucination brought on by not consuming demon blood, absolutely nothing about it was real... He hoped.

"No." He finally managed to say. "I love Jess, and you are not her. You're not real."

The hallucination shrugged. "Real or not, I'm still dead."

Sam took a deep breath. "I know. And I've never forgiven myself for letting that happen. I probably never will if that makes you feel any better."

Fake Jess pursed her cracked and bleeding lips in thought for a moment. "Nah. But this will." She flicked a hand upwards, and Sam felt himself fly to the ceiling. Gravity tried to pull him back down, but that inhuman force kept him pinned, forced to stare down at Jess' smile, and those awful, _awful_ black eyes. The feeling was so damn unnatural that his stomach clenched at the horrid discomfort, and he had to continuously swallow just to choke down bile.

With no warning, the force vanished, and he began to fall. Once he painfully landed, he tried to stagger back to his feet, but he found himself frozen against the floor, he couldn't even twitch. He heard Jess chuckle before he was slammed back against the ceiling, hard enough to dent the plaster this time. He panted air in and out to try to remain calm, but then Jess let him plummet to the ground again, only to throw him back up. The painful cycle continued on and on until Jess seemingly grew bored, and pinned him to the celling one final time. Face-first, just for good measure.

"I'm being kind, you know." She said casually. "You've only been playing this game for about a minute. Me? It took _hours_ for you to finally show up, and all I could do was lie there and wait. Bleeding, in pain, _terrified._ I kept thinking, 'Sam, please come home, save me, Sam.' But you didn't. You didn't save me from anything. So now, I'm going to watch you burn while nobody saves you either." Unseen by Sam, Jess blew a kiss, fire sparking from her hand, and the embers rushed up to Sam, and clung to his clothes, and then he began to ignite.

Jess giggled as he screamed. "Tell me, baby, what hurts more? The burning, or knowing that you're all alone?" She paused to grin, knowing what he was thinking, she did exist in his head after all. She chuckled. "Don't bother answering. I know. And you know what else I know? I'm really, _really_ going to enjoy this."

* * *

 **AN:** Jess going to Hell and turning into a demon is like my favourite head-canon. I actually choose to believe that a certain demon on the show is really Jess, but that's a story for another time. Even though I wrote all of this just today, I forced myself to write something else for y'all's patience. Who's ready for a well-deserved-

 **Sneak Peek:** "Well- it was only a matter of time before big brother showed up. Sam wondered which way Dean would choose to torment him."

I've got a couple days off this week, so there shouldn't be as long of a wait for next chapter. But I really do encourage you to give me some ideas for what you'd like to see, it motivates and inspires me more than you know, so I'd really appreciate hearing what y'all think. See you soon!


	4. One Thing Left

**AN:** Sorry for the wait, I had every intention of getting this up yesterday after visiting my grandma for her 83rd birthday, but we ended up getting lost on the way home and got home way later than originally planned. My apologies, though I hope it was worth the wait!

* * *

Jess wasn't the last hallucination. Others kept coming to call him a monster, or some would try to convince him to give in and say 'yes' to Lucifer, and the rest would just plain torture him. Sam wasn't really sure which of those was most painful. But then he heard a voice. _The_ voice, and he knew that this was going to be the one that hurt the most.

"Hey, Sammy."

Well, it was only a matter of time before big brother showed up. Sam only wondered which way Dean would choose to torment him.

Sam let out a weary sigh. "Hey, Dean."

He knew it was a hallucination, but it still felt good just to hear his brother's voice. Nothing but silence filled the room for a few more moments, but then Sam finally spoke up again.

"Well?"

"'Well' what?" Dean asked. "Oh." He chuckled. "You expect me to lecture you?"

"Or torture me. Something in between. I don't know."

"Well you're wrong." Dean sat down on the floor beside him. "I'm not mad at you, Sammy. I'm the opposite actually. I-I'm sorry."

Sam's eyes went wide. "Y-you're what?"

"I shouldn't have said all the crap that I did, and I sure as hell shouldn't have left you on your own. You didn't deserve that."

Scoffing, Sam shook his head, and then lowered it, unable to look at Dean as he confessed the next part. "Yes I did. Look at me. I'm- I drank _demon blood,_ Dean."

"No you didn't. They forced it on you, but when you had the choice, you said 'no,' and that's what's gonna happen with Lucifer too. You're gonna resist and fight all the way til the end. You know how I know that?"

"How?"

Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder, and Sam had to fight the tears, wishing beyond reason that this could be real. "Because you're strong. You can do this, Sammy. I believe in you."

Despite knowing how neither Dean nor the words were real, Sam let himself cave, and threw his arms around his brother. God, he missed him so much. So much that he'd accept even this cheap imitation of Dean's affection.

He didn't know how the long the moment lasted before he heard Dean gasp, and he put his hand on Sam's chest. Wait, but- his hands were around Sam, so what the hell was on his chest?

Sam released Dean from the embrace, and what he saw made him want to vomit. A hand had _plunged into his brother's chest,_ and was nowjutting out of it, and drenched in blood.

"D-Dean?" Sam called out in a panic, not even bothering to look at who had done this to his brother.

In answer, Dean only let out this pitiful gurgling sound, hands tightening their grip on Sam's shoulders, and he met Sam's gaze with a pained and terrified gleam in his eyes. Soon, they rolled up, and he fell limp in Sam's arms.

"No!" Sam cried.

Soon after, the hand yanked itself from Dean's chest, creating this horrific squelch, an almost vacuum like sound, further churning Sam's stomach. When he finally managed to look up, he saw a face he'd grown well accustomed to seeing in his nightmares.

"Hello, Sam." The voice said icily.

Swallowing the break in his voice that Sam felt coming on, he closed his eyes and responded through clenched teeth. "Just leave me the hell alone, Lucifer."

"See, that's your problem right there." Lucifer said, crossing his arms. "You keep turning me down, meanwhile, you're leaving Dean all alone and vulnerable." Lucifer snapped his fingers, and Dean's body vanished. It had been keeping Sam upright, so when it disappeared, Sam no longer had any support, and he fell even further on the floor, just barely managing to catch himself with his hands. "If you would just say 'yes,'" The Devil continued. "You could make a deal to keep Dean safe. No one would harm a hair on his head, and you'd be the reason why. After he's spent his whole life protecting you, you can't do this one thing for him?"

At this point Sam wasn't even sure if he was hallucinating anymore. Maybe he'd managed to pass out, and this really was the Devil promising him these things. But it didn't matter. His answer would always remain the same.

"I'm not gonna say 'yes' to you."

"But why?" Lucifer asked with genuine curiosity. "All your defiance is getting you is more pain. Look at yourself. Captured by angels, forced to drink demon blood, then it's taken away from you just to make you suffer even further."

"Yeah, and who's fault is that?" Sam countered. "Who's the one who told his children to bleed in my mouth when I was a baby, to kill my mother, and my girlfriend?"

Lucifer sighed, possibly in sympathy. "That was unfortunate. But need I remind you, _I'm_ not the one who took you away from Jess."

"Don't." Sam snapped. "Don't you dare try to pin that on Dean."

"Right." Now he chuckled. "Totally not Dean's fault, cuz big brother's just perfect, isn't he? Letting you and your daddy fight all the time, never having the sack to stand up for you. Or when he did nothing when John kicked you out. Manipulating and guilting you into leaving college, where you were happy, just so he could suck you back into the hunting life. Being stupid enough to let you get kidnapped by Azazel, and then killed by Jake. Selfishly selling his soul for you, and leaving you on your own, but blaming and _hating_ you for the things you did for trying to bring him back. You gave up _everything_ for him, meanwhile he shriveled up and broke in Hell, breaking the first seal, mind you. And yet when you broke the last one, completely unknowingly, he blames the whole apocalypse on _you."_

"He- he didn't-"

"Oh, but I'm not done yet, Sam." Lucifer cut him off.

Sam closed his eyes, knowing and dreading where Lucifer was going with this. "Please don't."

"All you wanted was his help, but what did he tell you?"

"I don't want to hear it." It was almost a plea, but one that was ignored.

" _Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak."_ Came Dean's words.

Sam slapped his hands over his ears, trying to block out the horrible and heart-breaking sound of the voicemail that had damned him. But it echoed inside his head, the hatred and disgust dripping from Dean's voice. No false kindness from a hallucination this time. This- this was the _real_ Dean now.

" _Dad always said I'd either have to save you, or kill you."_

"St-stop it!" Sam pleaded. He couldn't bear hearing this.

" _Well I'm giving you a fair warning."_ The voicemail continued, seemingly growing louder. _"I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam, a_ vampire _. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back."_

The words may have been old, and had been replayed over and over to remind himself what a monster he was, but they still hurt to hear just as much as the first time.

"I'm so, so sorry, Sam." Lucifer said with true pity in his voice. "But Dean doesn't care about you anymore, you know he doesn't. Otherwise he'd be here to save you. But he isn't. _I'm_ the one who cares, _I'm_ the one who's here, and _I'm_ the one who can save you."

Maybe the Devil was right. Maybe Dean, hell, maybe _no one_ did care about him. But his refusal wasn't for Dean's sake, maybe not even for humanity's sake. Sam had next to nothing at this point. No family, no friends, no _hope,_ but he did have one thing left. And that was choice. And the second he said that damn three letter word, he'd officially have nothing, so yet again, he resisted.

"No." He said, still strong.

"Sam,-"

"No!" He shouted. "No, it will always be no! No, no, no, no, no-!"

"Sam!" A voice shouted, and it was no longer Lucifer's, but it was just as grating and familiar. "Lotta 'no' coming out of your mouth right now."

Sam's eyes opened, and he wasn't surprised to see Zachariah in front of him. "And that's all there's ever going to be." Sam stood up, his encounter with Lucifer, real or hallucination he still wasn't sure, leaving him empowered.

Zachariah sighed. "I expected as much. Good thing I like to plan ahead." His hands were suddenly on Sam, shoving him over to the corner of the room, where there sat a tank, filled to the brim with demon blood. O-oh, God, was he gonna-?

Sam struggled in panic, but his strength was nothing when compared to Zachariah's, so before he knew it, he was looking down at the tank.

"D-don't do th-" He was cut off with a cry of pain as Zachariah kicked him in the leg, knocking him to his knees. One of Zachariah's hands now shifted to Sam's hair, slowly forcing his head closer to the liquid that was now calling to him.

"Really was hoping you'd just go ahead and break already, but, way I see it, it just makes my job a little more-" He made sure Sam saw him grin. "Fun."

And then he shoved Sam's head under.

Sam hadn't had the time to prepare himself for that, so he couldn't even suck in an entire gasp before he was submerged into the demon blood.

Now, Sam had almost drowned plenty of times in his life. He was a hunter, he'd hunted numerous monsters that dwelled in water, and they'd gotten pretty pissed, therefore they'd tried to keep him from killing them. But- that had been water. You can thrash around in water, see in it if you opened your eyes. But this- this was blood. It was too thick to move around in, and too dark to see in, not that he wanted to open his eyes anyway. The stench instantly filled his nostrils, and it made him want to throw up. Yet, he also immediately felt the need to swallow it. He'd been going through detox for God knows how long, and it could end if he just drank- n-no, he _wouldn't!_ But, oh, God, he couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't _anything!_

Rational thought finally left his mind, so he no longer thought about what he was doing. All that was left was the instinctual need to breathe, and so his body started acting on that need without his consent, and he did the one thing he could.

He swallowed.

The rush of power already began to flood him, but he still couldn't breathe, so he had to swallow again. And again, and again, and again, and ag-

Then his head was roughly yanked out of the tank, and he was coughing and sputtering and choking around all the blood in his throat, nose, eyes, _everywhere._ He still couldn't see as the thick blood dripped down from clots in his hair and into his eyes, and it was terrifying. All he felt, smelled, tasted, _knew_ was the blood.

"This is what your strength gets you, Sam." A voice said sadistically. Before Sam could place it, he was shoved back under the blood in the tank, and the cycle of resist, swallow, choke, breathe was about to begin anew. He tried to fight once his rationality returned to him, but his rebellious mindset must have been apparent because Zachariah swiftly stomped on his leg. Sam felt the bone immediately snap, and he sucked in a breath to scream, but it only caused him to choke on more blood. The more he tried to fight, the more pain he was forced to endure. If this was really his reward for resistance, maybe there really wasn't a point anymore...

* * *

 **AN:** Y'all signed up for an angst-fest when you opened this fic, and that's what you're getting. And despite Lucifer's rant against him, I promise, I do like Dean, but I don't always like how he gets free passes for when he makes mistakes, but Sam and Cas get hated on for whole seasons because of theirs. Anyway though, being lost on the road for an hour has its benefits, like more time for writing, because I was able to pump out enough of the next chapter to get y'all a-

 **Sneak Peek:** "'Before you fall back into that cliché,' Lucifer interrupted. 'I'm not looking for the big answer. I just want to set you free.'"

Next one is probably the last unless the muse decides to throw this roller-coaster story through another loop. Hope you're enjoying, and if you are, please leave a review! They make me smile every time! See y'all soon!


	5. Revenge is a Wary Road

**AN:** I could give you guys a whole list of excuses as to why this took so long, but the main one loops back to my depression. Normally it takes form as really intense bouts of anger and sadness, but over these past few weeks, it's been draining me of all motivation, so that's why this has taken me so long to update. But sitting here talking about it won't help, so I made myself power through it and give you guys what you deserve. So, at long last, here is the final chapter of _Payoff for Faith._

* * *

Time was officially meaningless. However long Sam had been here, it had been too damn long. He'd been tortured, taunted, and killed more times than he cared to recall. Each time he died, Lucifer would appear, telling him to spare himself all this anguish, and just say, 'yes.' Sam had nearly broken a great number of times already, but he'd been- conveniently? or inconveniently? he wasn't sure- brought back each and every time that had almost happened.

"I'll be honest," Zachariah said, snapping Sam's mind back to the present. The angel stared down at the quivering Sam. The boy was practically all demon blood at this point, Zachariah didn't really blame him for being a little shaky. "Thought you would've caved by now. Really, all this time with me, and you're still just as stubborn." He paused, nudging Sam with his foot. "Or, maybe you're just too braindead to know what I want. Is that it, Sammy? Don't even know what I want anymore?"

"G-go to hell." Sam barely even managed that as a whisper. The words were followed by Zachariah snapping, and agony once again began to flow through Sam's body. His tainted blood bubbled beneath his skin, the immense heat blistering the flesh and charring his bones, and he cried out in utter agony. Zachariah watched in glee until he was satisfied with Sam's suffering, and ceased the torture.

"C'mon, Sam, we both know you'd do anything to finally free yourself from this. Just drop the act already."

It would be so easy to break right there. He knows he'd had enough demon blood, and he _definitely_ knows he's already plenty broken. But making Zachariah angry was the closest thing Sam had to entertainment, so why not?

Sam took a deep breath, and hissed out, "No."

As soon as the answer slipped out of his mouth, Zachariah swiftly grasped Sam's head, and snapped his neck. Sam knew he had died because when he opened his eyes again, Lucifer was standing before him.

"Well." Lucifer said casually. "Here we are again."

"My answer's still-"

"Before you fall back into that cliché," Lucifer interrupted. "I'm not looking for the big answer. I just want to set you free."

Sam swore his heart skipped a beat. "Fr-free?"

"Yes, but there's a catch." Big surprise. "I free you, but you come with me to have a chat."

Sam scoffed. "A chat? Meaning you try to get me to say, 'yes,' and if I don't, you'll just torture me til I do?"

"Not at all, Sam. Just a talk. And if you still refuse, I'll let you go."

Maybe he'd be damning himself by agreeing, but this was the most promising thing Sam had heard in- God knows at this point. God knows how long of suffering, demon blood, _loneliness_. Besides Zachariah, and his hallucinations of faces he used to know, Lucifer was the only other- 'person'- he'd been able to talk to. And as screwed up as it was, Lucifer had always been- kind to him. And he'd endured so much pain, he could certainly handle a conversation with the Devil.

"Oh, almost forgot to mention." Lucifer added with excitement. I'll also make Zachariah suffer. And I want you to help."

Revenge is a wary road. The first two decades of Sam's life had been readying him to avenge his mother's death. The next two years were spent trying to do the same for Jess'. That had gotten him killed. The next year had been trying to prevent Dean's death, followed by a year of trying to make Lilith pay for it, but he'd simply damned the world in the process. Revenge had honestly brought nothing but pain and misery each and every time he'd tried to pursue it. But know what?

Screw it.

Following the rules and believing in a better future had gotten him exactly nothing his entire. Damn. Life. And he was done with that. After twenty-six years of suffering like a good little martyr, Sam was ready for some payback.

"Alright, Lucifer." Sam said. "I'll help you, and then you get me the hell out of here."

Lucifer's smile was almost completely normal, but there was unmistakably a hint of menace hidden beneath it. But frankly, Sam didn't give a damn. "Glad to hear it. But- small snafu with the warding on your ribs. I can't just snap myself over there. So-"

"So you need to break my ribs to find me." Sam interrupted, completely detached. "Fine, do it. I've dealt with a lot worse lately, so do whatever you have to do."

"I'll make this as quick as possible." Lucifer said with true sympathy. He snapped his fingers, and Sam felt a single rib break, but he didn't do more than hiss a breath through his teeth. Pain was relative at this point.

Lucifer's smile grew. "I got it. See you soon, Sammy."

Sam was too apathetic to protest the familiar nickname. Hell, he actually managed to find some sick form of _comfort_ in it.

There was another snap of fingers, and Sam opened his eyes to see Zachariah looming over him. "I could do this for ages, Sam. Got anything you want to say before I continue?"

His answer was a flap of wings, and for the first time in months, Sam smiled. "Time to burn, you son of a bitch."

Zachariah turned around to see Lucifer standing behind him. The usually overly-confident angel shifted in slight discomfort. "Lucifer. You're looking well."

"Spare me the sweet-talk, Zach." Lucifer said with disinterest dripping from his voice. "My meatsuit's a mess."

"W-well," Zachariah stuttered in what seemed to be fear, much to Sam's delight. "I've got your true vessel all ready for you now."

Lucifer chuckled. "Don't flatter yourself, little brother. Sam's not broken. He's just plain pissed off. And frankly?" He titled his head. "So am I."

He was suddenly in Zachariah's face, and before the lesser angel could stop him, Lucifer slammed his fist into Zachariah's face. Then his gut. Then his legs, and arms, and chest, and- well, you get the idea. Zachariah let out these horrible retching sounds as blood flowed out of his mouth with each cough.

"Ysee, Zach," Lucifer said once he took a pause in Zachariah's beating. "I don't appreciate you torturing my vessel. I told Sam I would never lie to him, or hurt him, so I don't appreciate anyone else trying to either, especially when they claim to be doing so for my sake. So now," The Devil grinned, and if Sam felt anything anymore he would've felt the room drop nearly twenty degrees when Lucifer smiled. "Sam's going to show you how it feels."

Unable to move, Zachariah merely shivered and whimpered in blatant fear, and Sam smirked. There used to be sympathy inside of Sam, but Zachariah had drowned it out and replaced it with demon blood. All he had now was the pounding lust for vengeance. He scanned the room, and knew exactly what he wanted to do.

Sam roughly grabbed Zachariah by his shoulders, a feeling akin to happiness swelling inside of him at the angel's pained cry. It wasn't until Zachariah felt himself forced against something that felt like glass did he figure out what Sam was planning to do to him. He opened his eyes to see a tank in front of him, the same one he'd forced Sam into, the one filled to the brim with demon blood.

Angels and demons, naturally, don't mix. They despise one another with every fibre of their being. It pains them to even be in the same room as one another. So forcibly being shoved into a vat of their blood- yeah, that would presumably be less than pleasant.

Without another thought, Sam shoved Zachariah's head under. His screams were near mute under the thick layers of demon blood, but Sam delighted in watching bubbles rise to the top of it, most likely due to Zachariah's cries.

Knowing that angels didn't need to breathe, Sam felt no remorse in holding Zachariah under the blood for far longer than any human could have survived. Eventually, Sam yanked him out, and if Sam was still himself, he would have flinched at Zachariah's state. His face was dripping blood, but as it fell, it was clear that the demon blood had corroded away the angel's flesh, reminding Sam of the scene from _Ark of the Covenant,_ where the bad guys had gotten their faces melted off. Zachariah attempted a sound, but he only choked on the blood sluicing down his throat. His skin continued to sizzle at every drop that slid down his face, and he was in clear, clear pain.

Good. Sam wanted him to _suffer._

So with that thought, Sam shoved him back under. And again. And again. And again, and again, and-

Until he felt an icy, yet comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Sam," Lucifer said softly. "I think he's had enough. I say I finish him off for you, and then I'll take you far, far away from this nightmare."

Even Sam's dreams hadn't made offers as kind as that. His blinding rage shifted into a feeling he hadn't felt in- if he was honest- _years._

Hope.

He nodded, and the Devil smiled. With a simple snap of his fingers, Zachariah burst like a water balloon, organs and blood splattering the walls, and shards of bone shot out and jutted out from the plaster.

The gentle hand returned to Sam's shoulder, and Sam looked up to see those almost burning blue eyes staring at him with what appeared to be genuine care, something Sam hadn't been shown in- God, he didn't even _want_ to try to figure that one out.

Lucifer closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Sam found himself doing the same, and when he opened his eyes, he was- oh, God.

 _Free._ He nearly wept in relief. But instead, Sam took in his surroundings. It wasn't familiar, not that Sam expected it to be. For months, hell, maybe even years, all Sam had known were those cold and windowless walls. His almost forgotten hunter instincts told him that he should try to figure out where he was though.

"Where are we?" He asked simply.

Sam didn't miss the Devil's fleeting smirk. "Somewhere in Detroit."

Sam supposed he should have cared that this was apparently where he was fated to say, 'yes,' but he couldn't bring himself to feel much of anything anymore.

"So." Sam said finally. "You mentioned something about a talk?"

Lucifer sighed, lips formed in a slight pout of pity. "I'm sorry, Sam. I truly am. I never wanted any of this to happen to you. The world's been in chaos without me. With no Devil to punish man, they do whatever they please, with no consequences to worry about."

"Save it." Sam snapped. "It was your plans that got my mother killed, Jessica killed, hell, even me killed!"

"Again," Lucifer reminded. "That all happened while I was locked away. All my children that hurt you, none of that was my intention for you. If I'd been there, I would have protected you from all of that, given you the life you deserved. Until I needed you anyway."

"And why should I believe that?"

"Because I'm all you have." Lucifer told him plainly. "If there was anyone else who cared about you like I do, they'd be here. You were Zachariah's prisoner for so, so long, yet who was the one who was always there for you? Who's the one who showed you kindness? Who's the one who finally saved you? It wasn't God, it wasn't angels, and it wasn't big brother. It was me. Always me."

Sam wanted to deny it. Say he had someone left who gave a damn about him. He used to always have at least one. His solid rock, the one person he could always fall back on no matter what. But not anymore. If Dean really did care, then where was he? Dead? Not likely. The angels wouldn't allow that. So it was true. Lucifer, the freaking Devil, was the only one who truly cared about him.

And that was the thought that finally broke Sam.

He fell to his knees, holding his head in his hands as he bitterly sobbed. He felt Lucifer's cold hand through his hair, and as twisted as it was, Sam found himself leaning into the gentle touch. You can't really blame him, considering how all other contact he'd had lately had been solely for the purpose of causing him pain.

"Shhh," Lucifer gently hushed. "I know you're hurting. I know who's hurt you, but together, we can make them suffer for everything they've done to you. Remember how good it felt taking down Zachariah? How _right_ it was? You and I, together, working to make those who deserve it pay for all their sins against you, against me, _us._ " That icy hand lifted Sam's head until their eyes met. "We'd be so strong together, Sam. That's all you really want, isn't it? After all those years of people telling you what to do, and who you're supposed to be, you deserve to take control, show them all what you can really do."

Lucifer knew him. How couldn't he? They were destined for each other after all, weren't they? Sam did want to be strong, and fighting alongside Lucifer had felt good, it had felt _right._ He couldn't help but wonder how much better it would feel actually _being_ Lucifer.

So after God knows how long of resisting, and fighting, and denying, and pointlessly believing, Sam finally gave in, and spoke that one, little word he was sure he'd never say.

"Yes."

A radiating glow soon filled the room, and then Sam felt it rush into him. The feeling of Lucifer's grace was- it felt better than right. It felt perfect. Demon blood had made him feel strong, but it also disgusted him at the same time. This though, this was _pure._ Lucifer's power and radiance pumped through Sam's veins, and Sam saw everything. He saw Lucifer's plans for destruction and mayhem, but know what?

Sam _loved_ it.

No one in the world was truly innocent, were they? Everyone had something for which they needed to atone, and Sam was going to have the chance to watch it. Judge, jury, and executioner. The world had abandoned him long ago, and now it was finally his turn to take control, and make everyone pay for all they'd done to him.

At last, this- _this_ was Sam's payoff for faith.

* * *

 **AN:** One of the many reasons I love Sam so much are for his flaws. He screws up, he is angry, gets blinded by his own pre-made ideals, and it leads to destruction. I decided to focus on Sam's anger as his main motivation in this story, and I know I probably could have done a better job had I been feeling less gloomy, but I hope you all still enjoyed it, and if that's the case, I'd love for you to take the time to review. I have another story in mind, but with how my brain's been lately, I don't know when I'll finally be able to pump it out, but thank you for your patience. You guys really make this strain worth it. Until next time, carry on, my wayward sons.


End file.
